


Desert Song

by wadingpool



Series: Sangre [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Afro Latino Gabriel Reyes, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Deadlock Gang, Deadlock Jesse McCree, Gen, Injury, Latino Jesse McCree, Minor Character Death, Native American Character(s), Navajo Jesse McCree, Parent Death, Teenager Jesse McCree, Young Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wadingpool/pseuds/wadingpool
Summary: He rather die fighting back than strapped to a chair.





	Desert Song

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This took a while to churn out! It literally took me a while to write as it literally deleted various times so if it's off I apologize. Thanks for Karla for motivating i love you. 
> 
> So I decide to write the intro to this being this of McCree getting picked up from Deadlock and I edited it a bit and such.

Jesse had a father once. James McCree had been a strong man, proud yet caring, with a tall stature that Jesse had inherited and black, thick hair that hadn't gone grey, despite being 44 years-old. He had laughter lines in his darkened skin, his brown eyes always glittering with mirth. Overtime, the view of his face had blurred. There was only so much a six year-old could remember. He just remembered the deep baritone voice that would tell Jesse stories about his people and their history. Something Jesse shared, their Navajo blood.  
  
It had been too long and Jesse did not remember. It had been eleven years since James McCree died, and along with him many untold stories and the only connection Jesse had to the people he never was able to meet.  
  
His mother was the best mother he could have. Smart, proud, and with a frame that despite how small it was, commanded respect.  He ended up nearly looking like a carbon copy of his mother sans the height and nose. He had her light brown skin and dark brown hair. Her warm, whiskey colored eyes and the same smile, if he remembered correctly. He had tried smiling once again, pretending to be happy but it had always looked fake. Never like hers. Her smile was always genuine, regardless of how stressed she was. Araceli had always taken care of him to the best of her abilities. She couldn't have known she would have struggled raising him for the long term, having all these wonderful plans of seeing him graduate from high school, get a college education where she  or his father couldn't, see him happy in life.  
  
How it would have broken her heart, both of their hearts, to see their son locked in a small, interrogation room, bloodied and bruise, waiting for what is probably a death sentence.  
  
Not for the first time, he's glad they're dead so they didn't have to see how he ended up. How he threw away their hard work of raising him and became a gang member. A murderer. If they weren't already dead, this would have broken his father's heart and mother's will.  
  
At one point after a year or so of riding with Deadlock and after shooting a father of 3 with another on the way, he wanted to change his name. How could he soil his father's name like that? His memory? How could McCree kill his father's legacy in such a way? A name was important. It held power. And how could he kill his father's last link to this earth?  
  
He couldn't help but think of those dark eyes staring at him, disappointed. Pained. He could imagine his father's voice, practically hear it, pleading for him.  
  
_Jesse, son, be good. Be better than both of us. You will amount to greatness._  
  
He can feel his mom's stern lips of sadness, eyes pinched and downtrodden. Tired. He could also here her voice, accented and sweeping like a summer breeze.  
  
_Jesse, tu eres de la familia Ramírez-Hidalgo. En tus raíces, tienes el poder de todo nuestros ancestros. Cuando creces, te vas a comer el mundo entero._  
  
Jesse tried as many names he could, cycling through them all. Deadlock just laughed it off. They didn't care what he called himself. They only called him by Deadeye anyway.  
  
Which left to his current predicament of epic proportions now.  
  
Here he was in the interrogation room, handcuffed to a table. His death most likely than not imminent and all he could think of was the stupid photographs he left at the Deadlock diner. The stupid photographs of his mother, father, and him. They were all smiling, a three year old Jesse smushed in between. Of his father laughing next to a baby Jesse in an oversized shirt, eating a piece of bread and looking big eyed at the camera. Of his mother, a candid, as she looked off into the distance, smoking a cigar with a gentle smile, a book in lap.  
  
The only thing he had left of them. All because of the stupid raid Overwatch decided to do. He had been feeling in his bones an uneasiness for a few weeks. He should have listened to his guts. Should have told the boss.  
  
He didn't know why he didn't. In the end, he ended up fighting against a hord of agents and having to use deadeye.

His eye burned as if a red hot poker had been stabbed into it. He's fairly sure he cried blood for after using it. He was able to clear out about 20 people using deadeye twice and just plain old shooting before he dropped out of exhaustion, feeling weak, and without any bullets.  
  
Right at the feet of the stupid boyscout in blue.  
  
Everything about him irritated Jesse, who, in his opinion, believed he shouldn't have knocked him out with his rifle. It wasn't like Jesse could build up much of a struggle with no bullets or energy. He could have probably thrown him over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. Like Jesse was a bundle of grapes. The guy was built. He looked like one of those white frat boys that went to one of those snotty rich kid colleges.  
  
Suffice to say, Jesse heavily disliked the guy.  
  
And now the gringo bastard just left him waiting for what felt like hours. He was cold, tired, and in pain and he just wanted to be anywhere else but where ever he was currently. He wanted to go home. He wanted to visit his mom and dad. He wanted the photos back. They were the only thing he had.  
  
A bang followed by loud footsteps made him jump up, startled. Against his will, he felt  a spike of fear run through his body. He quickly stamped it down, although he felt cold dread coil in his gut like a snake. He was 17 for god's sake; a simple dumbass in blue shouldn't intimidate him. He was just another faceless soldier in Overwatch. Who gave a shit about him?  
  
The man walked in, face grave. He approached Jesse and sat in the chair opposite of him. For a long while, he ignored Jesse, looking through a multitude of paper documents. Jesse tried to covertly look and only saw a picture of him knocked out. Yikes, he did not look good in that one. He squinted at the photograph, just being able to make out the srapes and bruises he had and a split brow that must have been what made the right side of his face hurt. Bastard got him good. The man flipped to a series of documents that Jesse couldn't read from his angle so he waited, tapping his foot as best he could, strapped to the chair as it was.  
  
He must have blanked out since he heard someome clearing their throat. Ah shit, it was blondie. Jesse tilted his head, asking for a repeat. Blondie was looking pretty irritated and slightly pissed.  
  
"I said, state your name, age, and date of birth for the record. Then, proceed with your position in the Deadlock gang and what you know of the leadership." Damn, the man sounded so gravely. Did he literally swallow sand while he was killing and rounding up what was left of Deadlock? He seemed like the serious type. And boy did Jesse love messing with those types.  
  
< _No hablo inglés. Me lo puedes repetir en español, porfa_? > Jesse said in perfect spanish, flashing a grin at the man. The man stared at him for a solid second and looked like he wanted to squish Jesse like a bug.  
  
"Cut the bullshit, kid. I heard you speaking english over there in the diner. You were talking to someone over a comm. Now give me the information I required." The man gritted, Jesse was getting on his nerves. Man, this is too easy. The man is so riled up. Jesse didn't even need to try.  
  
< _No se de que hablas, chamaco. No se inglés. No te puedo entender_. > Jesse was having fun. This man was making it too easy. Jesse felt slightly sorry for the poor bastard. He saw the man's face slowly get more and more red. It was fascinating. He never knew someone could get that red. Suddenly, the man slammed his fist on the table, startling Jesse and making him jump.  
  
"Fine kid. Stay quiet. We got enough to put you away. Maybe even put you down like the dog you are," the man snarled, getting close to Jesse. Jesse moved slightly back on instinct but met the man, head on.  
  
< _Vete a la mierda_. > Jesse spat right back. They both glared right into each other eyes until the door opened. They both snapped to look who entered.  
  
The man had dark skin and was wearing a beanie with a simple, dark green jacket and jeans. His arms were crossed and he was looking towards blondie.  
  
"Morrison, if you're going to do an interrogation, I believe the best course of action would be maybe not losing your mind? I don't know, maybe just me."  
  
Blondie, or Morrison, leaned back with a huff, sounding like an chastised child. Jesse cracked a lopsided grin at that, snorting. The other man turned to him, and raised in eyebrow.  
  
< _No creas que me olvidé de ti. El ya te iba cachimbiar. No comas mierda, pendejo._ > the man warned him, surprising Jesse. Man, there goes his fun. At least this one was less of a hard ass then Morrison. Now that he thought of it, that name sounded familiar. He wonders where he heard it...  
  
He missed what Morrison and the man said, just returning to the present as Morrison's chair scratched against the floor, screeching. He marched out the door throwing a dirty look at Jesse. Jesse just smiled and winked. Morrison growled and left. He heard a sigh from the man and his focus turned to him.  
  
The man went and sat down in the chair Morrison had just evacuated. He didn't bring anything with him. He folded his arms, leaning back and just staring at Jesse. It was cold and calculated, there was nothing belying his emotions at all. It made Jesse uncomfortable.  
  
"Alright, _chamaco_. I'm going to need you to answer some questions. I already know you gave Morrison a certain issue and we all know you speak English. Now, we could keep this back and forth of you pretending to not understand and then bullshitting yourself through the interrogation in Spanish, or you just make it simple and tell me what you know about Deadlock. Simple," the man said plainly. He had an air of aloofness and seemed perfectly comfortable in front of someone who just murdered a bunch of people. Jesse remained quiet. The quiet ticked on for a while, the man staring at Jesse the whole time. It was unnerving. Eventually, the man rolled his eyes.  
  
"Alright. Let's start with me then. Now that's something I like," he smirked. The man continued, "I am Commander Reyes of Overwatch. I am 38 years old and I'll be honest, I'm tired and could barely be bothered to do this idiotic interrogation. Which, if I'm, again, being completely, is just tough luck for you because if you don't give me the information we've been asking for in the next," Reyes glanced at a watch around his wrist, "Lets say, 40 minutes, I'll just sign this nice little paper that will just haul you off to the nearest death chair they got and I won't have any trouble falling asleep tonight.  
  
"So, if you want to save your own ass, I recommend you start talking... Clock is ticking." Reyes finished, breezing through it so fast it took Jesse a few moments to reorient himself. Again with the familiar sounding names...  
  
"Alright, now let's get this started." Commander Reyes said, straightening out the papers Morrison had left out on the table. He straightened them  
  
"What's your name and age?" Commander Reyes asked, not bothering looking at Jesse.  
  
"Juan Guerra. I'm 25." Jesse said, tone neutral. He wasn't going to the Commander his name or age. The Commander let out a barking laugh, shaking his head.  
  
"Yeah, right. You going to sing me a song, _bachata_?" Damn, caught in the lie. How the hell did this guy know? Must have been like his mom, always listening to those old songs from the beginning of the god damn century. "And I sure as hell know you aren't 25, so spit it out kid."  
  
"M'names Jesse McCree," he mumbled, defeated. He heard the sound of a pen writing down the information. "I was born in Nevada. I'm 17."  
  
The pen stopped abruptly. Jesse looked up, confused. The Commander was staring at him strangely before whatever ir was left his eyes and returned back to apathy. However, the air around him changed. Jesse wasn't sure how to explain it.  
  
"Alright. Now tell me about Deadlock."  
  
Jesse hesitated, then spit out all he could about Deadlock. The Commander wrote it all down, only interrupting to ask for clarification. Jesse wasn't sure how long it took but they finally finished.  
  
"Okay, kid. A few more things that don't have to  do with Deadlock," Commander Reyes said, then looked Jesse in the eyes.

"First of all, I need information about your parents. Names, ages, place of birth."  
  
Jesse glared at the man, jaw clenched. Those were his memory. His parents. He didn't want to share their memory with anyone.  
  
"This is off record. A big chunk of it at least." Commander Reyes stated, leveling Jesse a stare. Jesse sighed.  
  
"Mom's name was Araceli Ramírez-Hidalgo. She was born in Guadalajara, Mexico. She died five years ago. Father was James McCree, he was born in the Navajo Nation. He's been dead for 'bout eleven years now." Jesse swallowed, throat seizing up. Why now of all goddamn times is he feeling emotional. "Araceli was 41 an' James was 44."  
  
The Commander paused, looking at Jesse. Jesse gave him a dirty look. He didn't care what he might be thinking, he just didn't want pity. The commander finished writing, then turned to Jesse once again.  
  
"Now, I need to know about your ability. It will be better for when they... contain you." the commander said, hesitating at the end. Jesse tensed once again, then promptly released it. Might as well tell him since he did tell him all about his parents.  
  
"I don't quite know how but I've always had good aim. When I'm aimin' it's as if it's only me an' the target. Time slows an' I can just... shoot. The 'ability' is what got me my name in Deadlock. Deadeye. I don't know how I do it. I just need to clear my mind an' I focus on the people. Their heads. An' I just shoot. But it hurts. Hurts real bad. That's what happened with this," Jesse said, gesturing to his red, burning eye. It felt inflammed. The Commander looked at his eyes and gave a small grimace. Must look pretty bad though.  
  
"Okay kid but you need to clarify something; you killed 6 men at once but you didn't have ammo. We know bc we only found 5 bullets in the corpses. The other one didn't even have a bullet. So what happened?"  
  
Jesse shrugged. "Sometimes I don't need a bullet. It's like... if I see the person, I could kill them. Deadlock boss never picked up on it, I didn't think anyone would."  
  
The Commander nodded then began to get up. "Alright, McCree. I believe that's all I needed to here. This interrogation is over." Jesse felt the fear he was trying to supress strike him in the gut.  
  
"Wait. What happens to me?" Jesse couldn't help but ask. He didn't want to die.  
  
"Well, I'm glad you asked. Unfortunately, you are still a murderer with an enormous bounty on your head, looking at death penalty or life in a max-security penitentiary. However," Commander Reyes said, looking at McCree seriously, "You can come work for me instead."  
  
Jesse must be going insane. There is no way that is happening. The Commander must be bullshitting him. There's no way they would allow an ex-gang member and murderer become an Overwatch member.  
  
"With all due respect, I'm pretty damn sure I ain't qualified to become an Overwatch agent. Ya know, me bein' a criminal and murderer an' all." Jesse blurted out. Dammit. He got an out from Old Sparky just to practically refuse it.  
  
The Commander, however, didn't seem to regret his decisions. He once again sat down and began explaining to Jesse.  
  
"You wouldn't be working for Overwatch, you would me working for me. I'm the commander for the black-ops covert unit of Overwatch: Blackwatch. We do the dirty work that the boys and girls in blue don't want to do. You would be an incredibly important asset to my organization, with that Deadeye of yours," Commander Reyes said, gesturing to his injured eye. "I think you would see that you fit right in."  
  
Jesse sat back, staring at Commander Reyes. It was life or work for the man. He mulled it over. He didn't want to die but he also didn't want to trade one death sentence for the other. It was either die now at 17, guaranteed, or die at a later date because he's pretty sure black-ops gets on some real tough shit. The difference being, at least with Blackwatch he could die fighting back with his gun and with pride. He can't fight back against restraints that are there to restrain him to an electric chair or to a table for an injection. He knew what he decided.

"Fine. I'll join your organization. Better to die fighting than in a chair." Jesse reasoned. He looked down at his hands.  
  
"Good choice, kid. Now let's get going." Jesse whipped his head up, staring at the Commander. He's letting him go just like that? The handcuffs clicked open automatically. Jesse subconciously began rubbing his wrists, returning circulation to them.  
  
"Well, come on kid. We need to get you to infirmiry and get that eye checked out. That thing looks ugly as shit." With that, Commander Reyes exited the room. Jesse hurringly stood up, almost tripping over the chair he had just been handcuffed to and rushing out of the room. He looked down the hall to see Commander Reyes already halfway down. Jesse ran to catch up, ribs aching from the bruises there.  
  
He finally caught up to the Commander, slightly wheezing from exertion. The Commander let out a quiet snort.  
  
"If that run took it out of you and with only a few bruises om your ribs, you're going to need to hit training pretty soon. Can't have you passing out for jogging 10 meters."  
  
Jesse scowled. He was perfectly in shape. They walked towards the med bay, Commander Reyes leading. Just as they were about to go in, a shout stopped them.  
  
"Reyes!"  
  
The commander cursed under his breath and they both turned to see Morrison striding towards them, looking furious. Staring straight at Jesse. Fuck. Commander Reyes gave a shit-eating grin at the angry man when he came to stop in front of the pair.  
  
"Hey Morrison. I see you have calmed down." Morrison turned to glare at Commander Reyes and Jesse felt relief once the man's attention was diverted.  
  
"Reyes, why is the prisoner outside of the interrogation room and why isn't he handcuffed?" Morrison said, anger barely controlled. Jesse frowned. Had this not been the plan before? Had they not discussed it? Maybe Commander Reyes had superiority over Morrison but since Morrison was the one who brought him in, he was his responsibility.  
  
"About that. Well, you see, he isn't a prisoner anymore. He's a Blackwatch agent now. And as a Blackwatch agent, he is entitled to the same benefits as any Overwatch agent; including medical care." Commander Reyes said, not backing down or flinching from the intense stare.  
  
"What do you mean he's a goddamn agent now, Reyes? You're out of line. You have no jurisdiction." Ah, so Jesse was right.  
  
"That's where you're wrong, Morrison. It started being my 'jurisdiction' when he turbs out to still be a kid. He's not even eighteen, Morrison! He's dangerous, yes," Commander Reyes said, glancing at Jesse.  Jesse looked away. "But the kid deserves the chance to at least live. The U.N. would never let them join Overwatch so it has to be Blackwatch. His only options are either death or Blackwatch."  
  
Morrison let out a growl. "This isn't over Reyes." Then he turned to Jesse. Jesse instinctly hid behind Commander Reyes. He ain't scared much but he isn't a stupid man. It's past the time of messing with Morrison. "And you. Watch yourself. Step out of line and I'll be the first to kick you out." Then he left. Commander Reyes groaned, taking off his beanie and running a hand over fluffy black hair. Jesse remained quiet. Merely observing. His body still ached.  
  
"Alright kiddo. Let's go, in the infirmiry you go. I'll deal with Morrison. You get better. Report to Captain Ana Amari firstly and then tell her I sent you to find Doctor Ziegler. Angie will fix you up. Here," he said, passing Jesse a comm. "Contact me when you get out. I'll show you to your room. See ya later, kid." Commander Reyes turned around and began to walk away. Jesse was dumbfounded. So much in just a few seconds.  
  
He didn't know how Commander Reyes would truly dictate his life from this point on and he was terrified but in that lay a seed of rememberence. He reminded him of someone he hadn't thought of in a while, with her pride and of another person, with his black hair and the soft laughter with equally soft yet prominent voice. He couldn't just remember where he saw those last. He'd figure it out eventually, he reasoned. And he'd find out about those familiar names. He wonders how long he will live with Blackwatch and can't help but feel anger at this being his only choice. Guess he'll just have to deal, like he always does.

Jesse squared his shoulders, wincing at the tugging on cuts and bruises, and entered the infirmary, ready to get the show on the road. 


End file.
